Innocent Man
by RoseWolf21
Summary: AU...What do Amelia Pond and Sherlock Holmes have in common? They both met the Doctor. Amy was seven, Sherlock was 11 & 3/4...with a babysitting job, while on 'vacation' in the middle of nowhere. And guess who he's caring for? AMELIA POND! But what about The Doctor? Amy's just a girl. But the Doctor, he's completely in-explainable. !ONE SHOT!


**_!ONE SHOT!_**

This scene is in the actual universe, Series 5, during _The Eleventh Hour_

 **FYI: I** ** _do not_** **own Doctor Who, unfortunately. Nor do I own** ** _Sherlock_** **, nor do I have any rights to the Billy Joel Song "** ** _Innocent Man"_**

 **I am thinking of turning this particular concept into a multi-chapter fic.** ** _Review and tell me what you think!_** **Multi-chap fic? Or no? Please help me out. REVIEWS!**

*** _Innocent Man***_

Chapter 1

 _Some people stay far away from the door if there's a chance of it opening up…_

 _There hear a voice in the hall outside and hope that it just passes by…_

" **Dear Santa, thank you for the dolls, the pencils, and the fish. It's Easter now, so I hope I didn't wake you, but honest, it is an emergency…There's…a crack in my wall. Aunt Sharon says it's just an ordinary crack, and Sherlock does too…"**

"You know I can hear you Amelia!" Amelia Pond's baby sitter called from downstairs in the living room. "And stop daydreaming, Santa isn't real and he _certainly_ isn't going to help you with that _crack_ in your wall!"

"SHUT UP, SHERLY!" Amelia snapped at the arrogant sod who thought he was so much better than her all the time.

Honestly, what difference does _three years_ make from kid to kid? _None._ None whatsoever. Yet here he was, being his usual, snotty nosed, superior self. Turning back to the task at hand, the seven (and a half) year old girl, knelt beside her bed rested her elbows on the mattress, interlocked her fingers, closed her eyes and started again.

" **Sorry Santa, you'll have to ignore Sherlock Holmes. He's just my babysitter while Aunt Sharon's out. He's bit of a meanie. He's the one who's been agreeing with my Aunt Sharon. He says the crack in my wall is just a crack. But I know it's not because at night there's voices, and they don't sound very friendly. So if you could please,** ** _please_** **send someone to fix it? Maybe a fire fighter or a policeman or a…"**

"Amelia, no police man from _Leadworth_ is going to be able to fix your 'scary' wall!" Sherlock complained again.

Seriously sounding agitated with the persistence of the pest that had been shoved in his direction by his parents (and especially his brother) as if to say; "here, take care of everyone else's dirty laundry for us." Typical Holmes family.

Amy couldn't take anymore of Sherlock's nagging for one night. She had had enough. " ** _SOD OFF, SHERL-"_**

 ** _CRASH!_**

Amy gasped right in the middle of her rage. Racing to her window and looking out into her front yard, she knew her prayers have been answered. Evyes twinkling, she grinned and whispered to the air; " **Thank you Santa,** " before rushing out of her room and down the stairs; not even bothering to put a coat on before looking to see who Santa had sent for her.

Hearing Amy's thundering footsteps dashing down the empty stairs, Sherlock Holmes (age 10) looked up from his reading of _The Conceptual Chemistry of Deductions_. The moment he saw little Amelia dash out her own door in nothing but her nightie and her slippers, part of him panicked.

" _Amelia_!" He called, jumping to his feet and then to the door. He raced to the door and yanked it open. "Where in _hell_ do you think you are going?" he shouted in raging annoyance. Amelia Pond never answered him.

She was too busy staring at the big blue box that had somehow crashed ontop of her Aunt Sharon's garden shed. There was a man, stuggling to clim out of it's steaming doors, which were thrown outward. (How a box could end up steaming atop a crushed garden shed, Sherlock had not yet deduced). However, he could see that the man in the box was obviously in need of help…and also a complete idiot.

He looked young…for a man. From what Sherlock could tell, his clothes were practically in tatters and he was soaking wet. (A sodden man in a steaming box… Inturiging…). First of all, he was an idot for crashing into a _shed_. He was an idiot for getting his clothes all mussed up. And he was an idot for getting himself wet inside a box that was no bigger than a standard portable toilet. Then came the next thing that turned him into an idot…he was talking to Amy.

The kid detective could not hear every word they exchanged, from where he stood at the threshold of the house roughly ten yards away it was almost impossible. But there were a few stray words that caught on the breeze and were carried to his ears. There was a mention of apples. But why would they be talking about apples at a time like this? Then came the phrase 'swimming pool'…Swimming pool? What on earth could _apples_ and _swimming pools_ possibly have in common?

Sherlock didn't know. Not yet. In his mind he kept a list; a list of all the things that could possibly leave a clure to this man's ridiculous identiy.

1\. Steaming box

2\. Tattered Clothes

3\. Soaking wet

4\. Apples

5\. Swimming Pools

Parts of the list *sort of* made sense when put together in that list. But reality and proper logic just wouldn't allow such a thing. Indoor Swimming Pools are usually warmer than outdoor pools. It is possible that the man was swimming when he landed …But boxes can't fly. Much less crash. Especially into a _Garden Shed_. And no box of _that_ size could ever fit a _swimming pool_ on the inside. All of these things were impossible.

That was before Sherlock even _bothered_ to consider the barmy _apples_ he'd heard them talking about. Sherlock Holmes turned his attention back to the child he was supposed to be caring for and the strange man she was apparently talking to. By now, the man had tumbled out of his box. But when the man opened his mouth to chat some more, this— _wisp_ of golden light burst forth. And when the man looked at his own hands, they were glowing with the same hue.

Sherlock's brain just stopped.

Right then and there.

He knew what he saw, Sherlock Holmes had always trusted his senses. Always. But what he was sure he had seen. It was _impossible_. And not the good kind of impossible. Normal humans did not _glow_ , under any circumstances. Much less emit glowing gasses from their mouths. That kind of thing just didn't happen. It _couldn't_ happen. That only left one option open. This man was completely bonkers.

A hypothesis that was quickly proved when the man stood up, and walked directly into a shrub-covered tree.

"Bloody hell!" Sherlock muttered to himself in disbelief. "This man is blustering imbecile!"

"I heard that!" The man shouted from across the yard, popping back up from his collision with the hapless tree.

The man turned to look at Sherlock in the doorway. Up on his feet immeadiatley, the man galloped right up to Sherlock and bent over so their eyes could be level with each other; the man's drak green eyes against Sherlock's piercing blue.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor." The man greeted. "And who might you be?"


End file.
